The Frozen Lady on my Bed

August 16, 2015 at 12:00 AM
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This really did happen to me, and although I’m not haunted by the memory, it still freaks me out and I’m pretty much out of rational explanations. I don’t know if this is going to be freaky to any of you, but I can tell you that my irrational paranoia of the dark worsened after this.

So, as a kid, I was always afraid of the dark and I still am, however it was a pretty insane fear when I was younger. I didn’t really believe in ghosts or whatever they’re correctly called, and I still am sceptical now, but this one prominent incident has made my perspective change from on the fence to experienced.

I was eight years old, and every night was a struggle for me to go to sleep. I would get scared of every little noise, and if I was fast asleep I would wake up from every little noise, too. I used to have a single bed that was placed directly in front of my door, which I always leave open when I sleep.

I remember waking up in the middle of the night and just sitting upright (with my legs still stretched out, though) and rubbing my eyes. Obviously, my room was pitch black and I couldn’t see anything, however, this time I did see something. After rubbing my eyes I was surprised to find what I automatically assumed was my mother sitting at the end of my bed. The reason why I assumed it was my mother, was because ‘it’ had the same curly hair, wore the same type of pyjamas that my mother would wear, and wore glasses…like my mother always did–however, she looked extremely pale, and more like the colour of a dead corpse that you’d find in an ocean. She was not facing me, but I could see her side-portrait as she was sitting extremely still and silent and facing another wall. Obviously, I had no clue why she was just sitting at the end of my bed in the first place.

Being the considerate child I was, I asked her what was wrong. She did not blink once, and she did not move at all…she was still facing the other wall and I immediately got a bit heated as I thought my own mother was ignoring me. So I asked her the same thing, and got the same response. I reached out to her thigh and tapped it, trying to get her to face me, and at the same time I touched my ‘mother’ I asked her again what was wrong…but I received a response I did not expect.

As soon as I touched her, she whipped her head around me extremely fast and faced me with wide eyes and stared at me with her mouth gaping…then she started screaming while jumping off the bed and pulled my arms off of her. I obviously screamed from instinct, and tried to bring the covers over my body to ‘protect’ myself. I then heard footsteps from the hallway and faced the door in my room, and the lights turned on and it was my mother with a scared face and she asked me worriedly why I was screaming and what was wrong. I just sat there…shocked. I looked around my entire room and that thing that I thought was my own mother wasn’t there. I told my actual mother that it was nothing and tried to get back to sleep, but I obviously couldn’t.

Many years later, my mother and her sister were looking through old photos of their lives and I decided to sit with them. The house that I lived in when that incident happened has been there long before I was born, and my mother had in fact growing up lived next door to it while it was being built; and she wasn’t the first owner. My mother was telling me about the times when this house was being built, and who the first people who lived in it were. They were a mother and daughter, and they both died too early. The mother died of cancer, and the daughter died in her young-adult years from a drug overdose.

My mother then showed me a photo of the daughter, her name was Rachel. And I remember a terrible feeling forming in my stomach. I took the photo from my mother’s hands and looked at the photo more closely. Curly hair, glasses…but this time she wasn’t in pyjamas, but in casual clothes. It was her, the woman that was on my bed, it looked exactly like her, and that incident that happened when I was eight will make me always remember her face.

I don’t know how Rachel, if it even was her, got into my room that night or if I even fully believe that it was a spirit or anything…but someone was there, whether human or not. I saw her, felt her, and heard her, and I will not believe that it was my imagination.

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We Should’ve Checked the CarFax

August 14, 2015 at 12:00 PM
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This is a true story, a quite disturbing occurrence I had the misfortune to experience when I was at the impressionable – and, mind you, easily frightened – age of 7. The entire spectacle is centered around a road trip. This I must explain to you immediately, so that I can tell you the background of the story.
A month prior, my father had entered a contest. The contest was launched by a chain of failing gas stations in my area as a means of advertising. The concept was to distribute bumper stickers that bore the name of the gas station, (which I recall as “Iron-Pump” or something similarly cheesy), and at the end of the promotion, the first person they saw on the road sporting one of these poorly craft automobile accessories would be given free gas for a year. I suppose their intention was to make back their money with the free advertising, as they didn’t expect anyone could use very much gas in one year. They obviously had no idea the kind of person my father was. As you can probably assume, he won the contest, and was given a contract to sign giving him permission to use all Iron-Pump gas pumps free of charge for exactly twelve months.
The very next day, my father rented a tanker truck that is usually used to transport oil. Then my dear old dad set about emptying every single pump at our local Iron Pump into he truck. The attendants tried to stop him, and of course threatened lawsuit, but my father was a smart man, albeit a filthy crook, and had found multiple loopholes in the contract that essentially allowed him to take as much gas as he wanted. The idiots hadn’t specified a maximum.
Now, our family wasn’t very rich. My father was a genius, but he was lazy, and his law degree served the sole purpose of dust collection in his bedroom closet. Because we weren’t the most frugal family in the neighborhood, we rarely went on vacations, or family outings. So we were quite excited when our father announced we’d be embarking on a nationwide road trip beginning next week. I could hardly contain my glee. Ah, the irony.
So we set off in my mother’s disheveled Range Rover, an old piece of junk that worked once in a blue moon, and filled a trailer full of gas tanks my dad had filled up in the week proceeding that we hitched behind us. No more running on empty for this family! I remember packing not enough clothes, and too many crosswords. I was obsessed with word games at that point. I had quite the vocabulary for someone who couldn’t ride the tea cups when the circus came around.
It was about four days in that the car troubles started. And it was four hours in that the boredom began, so our irritation at my mother’s poor excuse for a vehicle was only inflated by our restlessness. It got to the point that we’d stall out three or four times in one hour. It only took about two hours of this for my dad to lose what little patience he could fit into his mind. He concocted a plan that involved selling some of the extra gas we had brought along to passerby’s, and renting another car to continue the O’Reilly family outing extravaganza.
“What about mum’s car?” I remember my little sister asking. My father chuckled and told of the glee it would fill him with to never have to see that piece of garbage again. My mother passively agreed. They, of course, implied by this that they would be abandoning the MomMobile.
We eventually sold enough gas to rent a car. My scoundrel dad filled up half the tank with rocks to make more profit, so it wasn’t difficult. A suspicious state trooper came by, asking what we were doing. He got a tremendously good deal; two tanks free. What a good person my dad was.
We walked up to the car Rental place, which was literally in the middle of no where. A dirt road on a flat plane that expanded to all visible horizons was the only other thing of interest. Completely devoid of life. The first thing I remember about the rental place was that it reeked of something dead. We could smell this even before entering the property. I had to hold my shirt to my nose, and clenched my mother’s hand extra tight. I felt a sense of uneasiness immediately. How was this rental place still open? All the cars were completely cloaked in dust. They looked as though they’d been there so long, i was surprised they hadn’t eroded. The building itself was completely devoid of windows, and looked to be a part of some prison complex. “Watch out!” my mother said, as I almost tripped and fell on some rusty razor wire that was sticking out of the sand on the ground.
“Hello?” My dad called out. No answer, save for a rustling in the tall grass on the side of the road opposite the car dealership.
“We need a car! Are you open?”
“Why yes, I am!” My entire family jumped in unison, and even my headstrong father flinched instinctively. We all spun around to face a grinning salesman in an indigo blue pressed suit who was emerging from the grass on the opposite side of the road.
There was a moment of tense silence. We were awestruck. Why was the sole employee of this run down car dealership across the street? And there was something about his voice, something… artificial… that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
“Um… we’re looking to rent a car. Could you help us out?”
The man didn’t budge from his spot across the road, his legs still concealed by the tall grass. Come to think of it, he didn’t budge from his expression either. He had sustained the same grin and widened eyes as before. Now that I had a moment to really inspect his face, he was downright unsettling. His hair was in such a perfect wave it looked like he had dunked it in craft glue and let it harden. His smile was stretched to a physically painful extent, and his eyes were watery from being open so… so wide. So impossibly wide. I remember thinking how it was possible to tense the muscles of one’s face so much and not physically shake. Then I noticed that his face WAS shaking. It wasn’t noticeable at first, but his whole head seemed to be vibrating, in the way someone’s arm would who was clenching their fist as hard as they could.
“Well of couuuuuuurse!” The man replied. The way he said “course”, he modulated his voice throughout the final syllable, adding extra inflections, so that it sounded more like “CouUUuUUuuuUuUUurSSE!”
It’s true what they say about a mother’s instinct, for as soon as the man said this, my mother stood in front of my sister and I instinctively. I later asked her about his sudden protective stance, and she told me she hadn’t thought about it at all. Something inside her had known this man had the most despicable of intentions.
“Okay, well… It’s getting kind of troublesome to have to shout across this road, so could you come over here and we can discuss it face to face?”
I’ve never seen someone’s expression change so quickly. In the blink of an eye, his happy go lucky smile had whipped around into a menacing frown. This frown was stretched just as painfully wide as the grin, and his head shook with an intensity about equal to when he had been Mr. Happy Salesman.
“Nnnnoo.” He said very calmly. It sounded like “uhNoooeee’w.”
“Please? This deosn’t seem very professiona-”
All of a sudden the Salesman punched himself in the face with full force. “Jesus!” my dad exclaimed. At this point, my mom covered my sister and I’s eyes and walked us away from the man, so my memory of the dialogue from this point on is vague. But I’ll try to remember some of what I heard.
“Listen, we can just … it’s not necessary to …”
Thwack! (presumably the man injuring himself again)
“Fuck, stop! Stop …”
“… Two Nights, three fiftyyyyyy”
“That’s fine … keys… family”
“enjoy … rides well, but ….”
“Yeah, you too…”
I heard my dad’s feet crunching on the dirt towards us. “Fucking lunatic…” he said under his breath. I also heard the jingling of keys, signifying my dad’s success in renting a car from someone who was obviously mentally deranged.
My mother’s hand had been removed from my eyes at this point, but it made no difference, as my eyes had been shut as tight as possible throughout the entirety of the debate, and I was going to keep them that way until we were out of sight of the dealership. I heard a car door open, and I stepped in and buckled up. My dad hooked on our trailer, started the car, and backed out. I thought I felt eyes on me, so I decided to open my lids instantaneously to make sure I wasn’t being watched. It was one of the worst decisions of my life, for at that moment my window was approximately two feet away from the salesman. I screamed in terror, because his head was now undergoing tremors of impossible magnitude, his neck bending in ways I didn’t think possible, sometimes whipping his head so far forward that it whacked upon my window. My dad gunned it out of there so fast that the State Trooper couldn’t have morally accepted a bribe if he saw us this time.
Being a child, I lived in the moment, and before long, my tears of fright had dried and I had effectively forgotten most of the experience. I was now happily singing along to the wheels on the bus with my mother and sister, although we weren’t joined by my father, who was having difficulty navigating our expedition.
“Shut the hell up a minute, will you?” he cried in a frustrated rage. The car was immediately silent. “Martha, see if there’s a map in the glove box. Middluh’ frickin nowhere…” my mother complied silently, but didn’t get far in her quest, as the glovebox turned out to be locked. It was locked not by a mechanism of the car itself, but with a physical rusted padlock that looked more ancient than my grandfather.
My mom opened her mouth to relay her findings, but my dad saw it before she could open her mouth.
“Oh, for the love of…! Everyone look around your seats, the key’s bound to be somewhere!”
And so we initiated our rental car Easter egg hunt, in which there was only one egg, and we were harnessed in place by seatbelts that were too tight and chaffed our necks. My sister was the one to find it, tucked into a slit in her seat’s leather. It bore no markings.
My mother hurriedly inserted it into the padlock, which opened with more ease than we imagined. She yanked it off, not realizing that her efforts to open the glovebox earlier had technically “opened” it, and that the only thing really keeping it closed was the padlock. And so, onto my mother’s fine linens, their fell jars upon jars of human appendages. Now, I remember identifying the body parts progressively during the duration of my mother’s blood curdling scream, so that is how I’ll present my findings to you below. Both lines of dialogue happened at once.

Me (inwardly): Fingers, Toes, Oh that’s an eye, More eyes, that just looks like red paste.

Of course, I was screaming too, so it was mainly my subconscious mind that calmly separated the contents of the morbid jars into neat mental categories. So by the time my mother was done assaulting our eardrums, I had a pretty good understanding of just exactly was in those jars.
And it’s a good thing, too, because before my sister (who didn’t see the jars because she was only 5 and was sitting behind my mother) could tell what the fuss was about, all 6 jars of human body parts were flung out the window with such speed that they could’ve been mistaken for a Yankee candle. My father had kept his eyes on the road, so the only two people in the car who had any recollection of the contents of the jars were me and my mother. Me because I had made a subconscious effort to remember, and my mom because it was burned into her mind for eternity. This was helpful later, when we had to explain to the police what was in there. One person could easily be mistaken, but two who saw the same thing were more likely to be taken seriously by the authorities.
This rapid propulsion of the contents of the glovebox out the window was succeeded by several minutes of terrified silence. Well, from my mother and I. My father was yelling with a ferocious anger, demanding to know what the hell that was all about, and my sister was doing the same, but with the cute, still developing language skills of a toddler who just wanted to know “What happen, mommy? Why’d throwum the windoe?”
Eventually, we were able to communicate what we’d seen, and my dad calmed down enough to calm US down. He told us it was probably fake, meant to scare people, that the Salesman was probably a practical joker of sorts. But to ease our simple, simple minds, he would go to the police and get the car inspected to make sure there were no more spooky surprises lurking in our newly rented vehicle.
Here is the exact list of items found by the police in our car, which they photocopied and gave to my dad, who gave it to me when I turned 18 as a keepsake:
2 legs, human, severed at thigh, vacuum sealed -Trunk
4 Containers of Industrial Strength Razor Blades -Trunk
Three vacuum sealed plastic cubes of unknown meat(later found to be human fat) – Underneath Driver’s Seat
1 copy of unmarked book, poor condition, written in unknown language (they never figured out what it was, though some speculated Latin)
2 pints of human blood- taped under vehicle (This was the most disturbing part, as this blood lab tested positive for countless diseases; HIV, measles, mumps, and others that I don’t remember how to spell nor pronounce)
The vehicle was unregistered. When the cops got to the dealership, there was no sign of the man. Records showed that the dealership had been abandoned for 23 years prior, which explain the dust coated cars, broken glass, razor wire, and why the car we rented was the only one not covered in dirt and grime. My dad now admits it was a stupid decision to to rent from there.
The K-9 unit had dogs try and track the man’s footprints, which looked promising at first. But they started getting farther and farther apart, mysteriously, and then disappeared into a lake. They closed our case when it became evident that no more was going to come of it. The police triple checked with us to make sure the man had no way of knowing any of our personal information, and we confirmed that we never even told him our first names.

To this day, that man’s expression still haunts me, and I only buy from car dealerships where you can see your reflection in the hoods.

Credit To – Dylan, TCW

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My Sister, The Artist

August 12, 2015 at 12:00 PM
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For as long as I can remember, my sister Ivory was always the creative one of us two siblings.

She even made a career out of it.

While I was working the typical office job, she made a name for herself teaching an intermediate art class. With her program being a rather popular option for up and coming artists, she had a good amount of spending money on top of a nice house. She even bought herself a nice little upscale apartment as a place for her to be creative and paint.

Due to sudden recent unemployment, I was out of a place to stay. When I brought this up to her, without hesitation, she offered me the chance to stay in her apartment for the mean time.

At least until I got back on my feet.

The next day, I arrived at the place with a few blankets, and my laptop. It really was a nice place, and it was located on the edge of the downtown city.

I decided to make use of my day by job searching.

I went to the public library with my USB drive to print out some physical copies of my resume. I had already filled out a few online job applications, but I decided that applying in person could be smiled upon by certain businesses.

After a day of walking around the city, I was excited to get back to the apartment and enjoy a sleep in a rather classy bed.

My sister had told me that even thought the area was pretty clean and friendly, some shady things had been reported as of recently. So I locked the door with the deadbolt and chain lock.

I had purchased a few precooked dinners from the store that day, so I decided to heat one up for dinner.

I rather quickly finished eating my warmed-up pasta with gravy and retreated to the bedroom, which I was all set up in.

The only other room the apartment had was the one my sister used for her art. The room had a few canvas paintings and blank sheets of poster board.

After browsing Reddit for a while on my laptop, I decided to call it a night. After closing my computer, it didn’t take long for me to fall asleep.

My eyes opened as I heard the deadbolt unlock.

I pressed down on the home button for my phone which was sitting on the night stand.

3 AM.

“Wow. My sister really must have had an unquenchable spark of creativity to come at this hour!” I thought.

Although I though the time was a little strange, I knew that my sister had always been strange. And that’s one of the reasons I loved her so much.

I smiled as I heard her mumble and quietly chuckle to herself.

But I wasn’t completely sure where this odd sort of grinding sound was coming from.

I shrugged it off and figured that it must have been some sort of crafty machine she was using for something with her art.

Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary at the time, and I was really tired.

“Man. Artists are so weird.” I whispered to myself. And with that, I drifted back to sleep.

Morning came.

My sister was gone, and I was once again alone in the apartment.

Since I had exhausted most plausible places for work the day before, I decided to just spend the day bumming around the city and other places I hadn’t explored.

I gleefully got dressed and left the bedroom.

I sure wasn’t going to let some stupid loss of a crummy job ruin my life!

I headed to the door.

I stared at the chain lock.

Credit To – AVIAM1998

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The Birds Are Singing

August 10, 2015 at 12:00 AM
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I don’t like telling this story and most people don’t believe it when I do. It brings back too many painful memories, memories that I’ve been running away from since I was a ten year old boy. I’d been called a devil, a murderer, a child just desperate for attention. I’m forty now and I’m sure people still question my sanity. I even question my sanity. It’s been thirty years, but I will never forget what happened in that house, I will never forget what I heard, what I saw. I saw things and heard things that no living person should see. Things that would leave a scar that can never heal and things that would leave you questioning your sanity. I will warn you, this story, this true story is NOT for the faint of heart.

It was in Ohio, 1985, when we moved into the house. My mother was looking for a fresh start after my father’s abusive acts became too much for her to bear. He never touched me or my sister, Hannah, in any harmful way, but he and my mother would go at it almost every night. My mother would be left with a black eye and a swollen lip. I pretended like I didn’t know what was going on. I regret that now.

When we first arrived at the house, I could tell that it was really old. The windows were dusty, the paint was weathered and peeling off, and the grass stood almost as tall as I did. It looked abandoned, as if we were the first people to live there in decades. There was also an old swing set in the back and behind that, was a pond that held dirty water with a greenish color. The fence would creak as you open it, as did the stairs.

The first two months were silent, nothing was really out of the ordinary, but I noticed something that seemed strange to me. I was in the house looking through the window to make sure that Hannah was okay being alone in the backyard. She was on the swing set, but, oddly the swing next to her was moving back and forth, as if someone was there with her. But there was no one there, nobody but Hannah. I figured it was probably the wind. I went out there, because I didn’t want her out there alone. I was very protective of my sister. When I sent her inside, I stayed out there for about a minute and I thought maybe I was imagining things because I saw someone in the hallway window. They looked down right at me, I couldn’t really see their face. Maybe it was Hannah. Maybe it wasn’t.

It wasn’t really until the next night when things got frightening. Hannah’s screaming echoed through the house in the middle of the night. My mother and I woke up and quickly ran to her. It sounded as if someone were attacking her, but we didn’t see anyone. She was just screaming on the top of her lungs, pointing up at the ceiling.

“She’s trying to drown me!” She screamed more than once. We didn’t see anything but she saw something that night, something was there.

After that night, things started getting…weird. I’ve heard footsteps echoing through the house and I know this is going to sound weird but I’ve heard someone singing. It sounded like a young girl and I know it wasn’t Hannah because it sounded nothing like her. I was laying in my bed when I heard it. It must have been around midnight because everyone else was asleep. She sung it over and over again.

The birds are singing, singing, singing
Go to bed, go to bed
I’ll see you in the morning, morning, morning
Now rest your head, rest your head

It got louder and louder. It sounded as if they were coming toward me. They were getting closer and closer until eventually, they were right at my door. I heard water dripping. It sounds strange but I know what I heard. The singing stopped suddenly and all I could hear was the water dripping. Then everything became silent. The doorknob started turning just slightly. I hid under my covers and eventually whoever it was or whatever it was had left.

That wasn’t the only time I had a weird experience like that late at night. I’ve also heard whispers, most of the time I heard them coming from the basement. I never understood what the whisperer was saying, but one night I heard them loud and clear. I was asleep, I heard footsteps in my room. It felt like someone was watching me, like someone was sitting right at the edge of my bed. I lay there with my eyes closed, hoping it’d go away. Then it whispered.

“Who are you?”

I didn’t reply, I didn’t want to make a habit out of talking to things I couldn’t see. It sounded like a woman. I guess it left afterwards because I didn’t hear anything else. I was horrified by what was going on in the house. I tried to explain it to my mother, but she never believed me. She claimed I was dreaming and I almost believed that maybe I was dreaming. My mother seemed distant. She wasn’t the same person anymore.

I was worried about Hannah as well. She must have been traumatized by what she saw that night. I loved my sister, we did a lot together, but she became distant as well. One day as I walked passed her room, I heard her singing.

The birds are singing, singing, singing
Go to bed, go to bed
I’ll see you in the morning, morning, morning
Now rest your head, rest your head

I walked in her room, and she stopped singing. She was sitting on the floor, drawing as usual.

“Where did you learn that song from Hannah? I asked her.

“I learned it from my friend,” she replied, pointing towards the corner of the room.

I looked around the room, but I didn’t see anyone or anything. I noticed her drawing and it was really strange. She drew herself sitting on the swing and next to her, was another girl.

“Who is that girl you drew?” I asked her.

“That’s my friend, her name is Maddie.” I figured she had an imaginary friend. She was six years old, so that was normal, but that didn’t explain the song.

“Is she the one who taught you the song?”

She shook her head yes. “Her mother used to sing it to her every night,” she told me. “And she still does sometimes.”

“Well where is she now?” I asked her. She dropped her crayon and stood up off the floor.

“She’s behind you.”

It was then that I felt a cool breeze rush through my body. I turned around slowly just to see myself through the mirror that hung against the wall. That’s when I saw her. She was only there for less than two seconds, standing to the right of me and drenched in water. She looked young, around 6, the same age as Hannah. I wasn’t as scared as I should have been. I asked Hannah if she was the girl who was on the ceiling that one night. She said no and that the one who was on the ceiling was Maddie’s mother. She said that her mother was evil and that she would kill us if we told anybody about her. The same way she killed Maddie. I wasn’t scared until then. I wanted to tell my mother, but I’m sure she wouldn’t have believed me anyway. I just wanted to protect my sister, so I said no word about it to anyone. I didn’t really think that a ghost could do any physical harm, but I was ten at the time. I didn’t know much about ghosts. The only thing I knew about them was that they were people who were once living.

Later that day, I was walking pass the basement when I heard the laughter of a young girl. It sounded like Hannah so I walked down the stairs. She was sitting alone in the middle of the basement. “You shouldn’t be down here by yourself Hannah,” I said to her.

“I’m not by myself,” she said. She had one of those old jewelry boxes with the ballerina that would twirl and play music when you open it.

“What are you doing down here?” I asked her.

“Maddie wanted to show me her jewelry box.” I looked around. I didn’t see anybody, not that I wanted to. I felt very uneasy, like somebody was watching me. Somebody was there.

“We have to go now!” I yelled. “We need to get upstairs!” I just didn’t want to be down that basement.

“Shhhhhh,” she whispered. “You’re gonna wake her mother.”

“Get up Hannah!” I yelled. I heard a noise, it came from the other room of the basement.

Hannah started crying, I could see the fear in her eyes. She stood up on her feet, dropping the jewelry box. “Danny…” she cried, pointing behind me. “She’s behind you.”

My heart popped out of my chest. I remember shaking and my heart beating at a rapid pace as I slowly turned around. I froze in fear for a few seconds. She was there. She had long black hair and was wearing a black gown, her face was pale and her eyes were pitch black. It was like looking in the eyes of death itself. I grabbed Hannah and we ran upstairs to our mother. I wasn’t sure if she believed us, she told us to stay out of the basement and that was it. The face still haunts me to this day.

The Birds Are Singing

Hours after that frightening experience, I lay awake in my bed as I couldn’t sleep. It was past midnight so everyone else was asleep. I heard music coming from outside my room. I got out of bed, thinking that maybe it was Hannah. I peaked out my door, but I didn’t see anyone. I walked down the hallway and on the floor, in front of Hannah’s room was the jewelry box from the basement. I watched as the ballerina twirled around and around and around. Everything was like in slow motion, I became lightheaded. The air was cold and heavy. Somebody was watching me. I heard somebody singing, singing that same song. It was a young girl this time, it was a woman. The singing was coming from Hannah’s room. I opened her door, the singing stopped and I didn’t see anyone. Hannah was fast asleep. I asked her about it the next day, but she had absolutely no idea what I was talking about.

Weeks after that incident was when everything took a turn for the worse. Just like before, she was screaming, screaming on the top of her lungs in the middle of the night. We ran to her, my mother and I.

“She’s trying to drown me!” She screamed. “She’s trying to drown me!”

“Who?” My mother asked. “Who are you talking about?” Hannah stopped screaming and stood from her bed. She was shaking, her face was pale and her voice became weak. Her eyes were wide as she stood there, almost like she was frozen, like she couldn’t move.

“She’s behind the door,” she whispered suddenly, pointing at the door with a horrifying look in her eyes.


The door slammed shut and I found myself alone, outside in the hallway. They were screaming. My mother and my sister were screaming and there was nothing I could do. I tried to open the door, but it was stuck. LET ME IN! LET ME IN! I yelled, I kicked and I punched because that was all that I could do. They were screaming as loud as they could until suddenly…the screaming stopped.

“Mom! Hannah!” I screamed out. No answer. They were dead, my mother and sister were dead. That was all I could think.

The birds are singing, singing, singing
Go to bed, go to bed
I’ll see you in the morning, morning, morning
Now rest your head, rest your head

It sounded like my mother. I heard the door unlock from the other side. I opened it slowly to find my mother sitting at the side of the bed, singing to Hannah who was fast asleep. She then stood up, I saw the emptiness in her eyes as she walked by me, as if I weren’t even there. I was beyond confused. It just didn’t make any sense.

I woke up the next morning to a loud noise coming from the kitchen. I ran downstairs to see my mother making breakfast, soaking wet and singing that damn song.

“Why are you wet mother?” I asked. She said nothing. “Where’s Hannah?”

“Who are you?” She whispered.

“It’s me mother. I’m your son.” She looked at me, staring into my eyes as if she were stealing my soul. She smiled, a crooked evil smile I never saw before.

“I don’t have a son,” she said. “Now run along, Maddie isn’t available.”

She walked down the basement and closed the door. After less than a minute, I heard a loud noise that echoed from the basement. I ran upstairs to Hannah’s room, searching everywhere for her. She wasn’t in there. I walked out into the hall and that’s when I saw her walk down the stairs. I breathed a sigh of relief. I thought she was dead. I chased after her, she led me outside, but I lost her as I shuffled through the tall grass. I ran to the backyard, thinking she might be playing on the swing set. I didn’t see her, but the swings were both swinging rapidly. I heard laughter, it sounded like two young girls, one of them actually sounded like Hannah but I couldn’t see anyone. I walked behind the swing set and that’s when I saw her. She was floating lifeless, faced down in the pond. I heard her voice as it echoed with the wind…she was singing.

The birds are singing, singing, singing
Go to bed, go to bed
I’ll see you in the morning, morning, morning
Now rest your head, rest your head

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What Waits in the Woods

August 7, 2015 at 12:00 AM
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As a child, I was always fascinated with the woods. While the beautiful pines scattered the land, captivating me with their size and showing me a picture of strength and resilience, the dark brush intrigued me with the unknown happenings of its solemn, mysterious, and unrevealing insides. I had been intimidated all my life by those woods because of that brush; although, until now, my uneasiness had been unsubstantiated.

I cannot seem to understand how I had known that there was actually something to be afraid of in those dark woods, but something inside of me had been warning me all my life of the monster that I had been afraid. If only I had listened to that feeling, I might be able to sleep soundly at night.

My name is Shane Walker, and I live in a rural town in Southeast Texas called Jonesville. I can see that some people could have trouble with that fact because of stereotypes assuming that people from Texas are uneducated and that there are no woods in Texas, but I beg to differ. Southeast Texas is home to a place known as the Big Thicket, which is a coniferous forest, incredibly humid and hot in the summer, while damp and frigid in the winter. The brush is so thick in this area that moving through it is difficult without a machete.

As I digress, I grew up in a modern family of five, including myself, my dad, my mom, and two sisters. My parents were always very protective of my siblings and I, as both insisted, “The world’s changed since when I was little. Y’all can’t wander around anymore without us worrying about you getting snatched up by somebody,” so I was only allowed to go to friends’ houses whose parents my family trusted. I spent my schooldays in the town’s elementary school with a small class (even for our “quaint” town) of twelve kids, so my “friends circle” was fairly limited, and even when I graduated to junior high, and into a bigger school, my circle did not expand due to awkwardness and shyness.

Through junior high I was only able to keep one close friend who I hung out with every weekend possible. This friend, named Deven Daniels, lived in a small house with his grandma – a house surrounded by woods that captivated me every time I came over. One day in the eighth grade, after growing bored with playing Black Ops, I finally gave in to the natural childlike temptation to explore those woods, so Deven and I planned our expeditions to clear out parts of the woods to build a clubhouse, in which we would have a wide variety of adventures.

We started off with a single machete and a rake, which to most people in our area was not seen as a problem, as they believed twelve and thirteen-year-olds could handle themselves with machetes to a certain extent, and I began hacking away at the brush (as I was a bigger, and therefore stronger boy), and Deven used the rake to start raking away the debris I was making. This kept us busy for a couple days, as I formed a boundary by hacking a circle clear around a large oak. After forming the boundary, we contemplated our endeavor. Looking at our hard work, we decided that enough had been done to form a clubhouse, for the brush surrounding the round clearing we had made formed something similar to walls for us, and the shade of the oak provided cover from the unmerciful sun.If only we had built walls and a roof to protect us from the outside world, that fateful account with that predator would not have occurred.

It was in those woods that my friend and I spent many nights after we had cleared out our section. I always felt that we should have had more protection, so every time we went to spend the night outside, I insisted we pitch a tent. My friend obliged every time, and we always brought out his old blue tent that was found in his closet, and in this tent, we unknowingly met with the creature that would soon come to haunt my nightmares.

One night, Deven and I were lying in the tent texting people, exchanging ghost stories, talking about things that had happened in our lives recently, and eating Cheeto Puffs, when I heard an unusual rustling outside.

“Dude, you hear that?” I asked my friend.

“No, what are you talking about?” Deven replied.

“I just heard something in the woods. It sounded kinda big,” I stated.

“Oh, no. Maybe it’s the Killer Coyote! Or the Hash Slinging Slasher! Dude we’re gonna die!” he sarcastically retorted, mocking me for my fear of the woods and the dark.

“Shut up, Dev, I’m serious. I heard something running around out there, and I’m gettin’ pretty freaked out.”

“Don’t worry, Shane, you’re just overreacting. It’s probably just the wind, or maybe it’s that stupid ‘coon that keeps scattering our trash around up at the house.”

“Okay, but it sounded big. Just be a little quieter so we don’t attract it, just in case it is something.”

“Alright, wuss,” Deven said, ending the conversation as I had no appropriate response to his insult other than rolling my eyes.

The night continued on like all other nights, with us conversing and jokingly insulting each other occasionally, when suddenly, I heard another unusual rustling in the woods, this time more distinguished, and by the look of terror on Deven’s face, I inferred that he had heard the noise as well.

“See what I mean now?” I whispered to the frightened preteen.

“Yeah. Be quiet. It might hear us,” he replied in a squeaky, frightened whisper.

The two of us sat, scared and listening intently, as the wind blew through the pines surrounding us. As minutes passed, I heard slight rustlings in the bushes, and it sounded like whatever was out there was coming closer to us. My feeling of slight discomfort burst into agonizing terror as I suddenly realized the only thing standing between me and whatever was out there was a thin blue piece of fabric. My breaths grew more frantic and exaggerated as I sat in the tent with absolute dread growing in the pit of my stomach, but soon, the sounds ceased, and as they did, my panic started to cease as well. After about half an hour of quiet, I let out a large breath of air and smirked at my friend.

“Ha, you were so freaked, man. ‘Maybe it was the Hash Slinging Slasher’” I mocked, making my voice slightly higher to match his whenever I let out the words, “’Hash Slinging Slasher.’”

“Shut up, you were scared, too,” he grumpily retorted.

“Yeah, but not as scared as —Do you think it was somebody playing a prank?”

“I sure ho–“ Deven started to say, interrupted, as if on cue, by a loud scraping noise that seemed to come from the oak tree directly beside the tent. I looked directly at my friend and saw his face grow pale with the expression of terror I had previously seen only minutes before. The feeling in my stomach came back to me all at once, a feeling I can only describe as agony. As the volume of the noise increased, that horrible feeling of absolute terror grew as well, and as my anguish became more powerful, a short, loud shriek managed to escape my lips, and to my alarm and confusion, the scraping noise suddenly ceased. As I sat against the blue canvas of the tent, I intently listened for any more disturbances. The woods were quiet once again, except for the sound of the brush and trees flowing with the wind and a faint, recognizable sound that I could not quite place. It sounded near, but in a sense, far away. Everything else in the world vanished as I focused on that sound. The steady, rhythmic sound, so familiar, yet, I could not quite place it. I pondered what the sound was, and how I could not seem to realize what it was, no matter how hard I tried. Soon, the sound went away, and all was quiet.

The rest of the night was relatively calm. The wind flowed through the trees the rest of the night, and there were no further disturbances. Terrified, my friend and I laid down for the rest of the night, unable to sleep and too scared to run back to the house. The morning eventually came after what seemed like an eternity, and Deven and I realized that we had made it through that terrible night alive. After grabbing our essential items (clothes, blankets, etc.), we looked back at our broken clubhouse one last time and noticed two distinct things: claw and chew marks going into the large oak that was meant to have provided sanctuary for us and footprints of whatever that beast was.

As I took a closer look at the footprints, I noticed where the creature had gone during that traumatizing experience for Deven and I – the bushes facing our north side which led to the oak. After departing from the oak, the large, canine-like prints led to the south side of the tent, right by where I had been laying, and slowly I began to notice something…

The familiar noise I had heard the previous night was the slow and rhythmic sound of a large beast breathing.

The creature had been inches from my face.

Credit To – Troy Moore

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August 6, 2015 at 12:00 PM
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I am falling.

I have been falling for. . . oh, I don’t even know any more. A few million years? It doesn’t even matter; time is meaningless in the infinite.

There’s really not much of a story to tell. I was just sitting at home, there was a pain in my chest, and I was falling. At first I just started screaming, and waited for my skull to shatter on the ground. Didn’t happen. It was a few days later when I finally realized this might not be ending any time soon. I didn’t do anything wrong, I didn’t do anything right; I didn’t do anything.

And yet I am falling.

I can see nothing but the empty blackness of whatever I am falling down.

I can hear nothing but the air whizzing past my ears. (I suppose there must be air down here; wherever “here” is)

I can smell nothing except my decaying and withered body.

I can feel my skin, fractured and broken, some parts of me worn away into nothingness by the fall. I’ve gotten used to the pain. It’s more interesting than the eternity of nothing, I suppose.

Screaming? I gave that up after a century or two. No point. Not that there’s much else to do.

Maybe I’ll die one day. Whatever awaits me there has to be better than this.

Really, the only thing that actually scares me at this point is that I’m already dead.

Credit To – Bennings

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